How will I ever publish anything when I have no attachment to it
Beyond what comes in this moment?
For me, the resonance of the thing I expel
Dims almost instantly upon words assigned
These nearly intangible creatures, no more substance than cloud
Beyond a shape
In my peripheral sky.
Just the tip of an iceberg
may or may not go on forever,
As subjective a time frame as that might be.
Why should I seek out depth?
Of course the appearance suggested is of the much below
but what if the only true height to be achieved is in the echo?
Surface tension can suggest an abyss to drown in
just as readily as something barely fit for wading.
Better a reflection
Than perception that is a lie?
These words blow through
like a breeze in tall grass,
The tops are moved but there is calm below-
waiting for something strong enough to shake roots free
from the grip that has become an image of still life and little more.
If allowed, this force divine and powerful to pull free,
from this slow growth stagnant slumber
these anchors exposed will crack, dry and die
Under a sun too bright to know that it burns.
But what is the point of having a heart,
If it’s never opened wide enough to be allowed to break?
This fear of the depths,
I thank everything that is worthwhile,
That it is less than my loathing of shallow
And my overwhelming desire
To get wet.